A comforting tale from my Wiltshire village, and the white feathers that followed
In this blog I remember my friend and neighbour Margaret, to whom the first ever Weird Wiltshire post is dedicated. It’s a story, in part Margaret’s, but in part mine.
It’s a gentle and comforting ghost story from here in the small and rural village in which I live, deep in the Wiltshire countryside. I feel it’s best to ease you in with a nice story before we get to some of the darker and more gruesome tales associated with this very old and very uncanny part of England.
The village where this story begins, deep in the Wiltshire countryside
This is a blog post written as a tribute to, and with permission from, my neighbour and friend Margaret*, who sadly passed a few weeks after it was published.
Margaret lived in the bungalow next door to me and had been there for forty years. She was a very private person who didn’t really like to bother anyone and, as far as anyone knew, she had no family.
Margaret was always very friendly and she loved my children dearly, as they did her. However, she always kept herself to herself, even though we made it clear we were always available to help with anything, anytime, should she want us to. Occasionally my partner would go in and help her if the electric wasn’t working or the tap needed replacing.
Sometimes we’d spot her slowly trudging up our High Street, a steep and unforgiving incline if you are an older person or of limited mobility. We’d pull over to offer her a lift. Sometimes she’d accept, sometimes she would graciously decline and wave us off with lots of ‘God Bless Yous’, as was her way.
That was really the extent of our communication, apart from birthdays and Christmas when she would stealthily deliver a birthday card with some money in for the children, often accompanied by a Lindt chocolate bunny, into our post box by the front door.
No one really knew much about Margaret, even her friends of twenty years and more. The rumour around the village was she was an Indian princess but this was never confirmed! She was pretty non-committal about her past, but I would glean interesting titbits here and there, especially when Covid hit.
Margaret ran out of medication and called me for help. We couldn’t get any from anywhere for several days. She became weak and very unsteady on her feet. I stepped in to help Margaret out and, despite her initial reluctance to accept help, she gave in (I was pretty persistent as her living situation was not safe).
I delivered cooked meals to her three times a day, made sure she’d had her meds, cleaned the house and helped her sort some things out. Mostly though she seemed to just enjoy the company. We spent many hours chatting, getting to know each other better. She wasn’t one for small talk so we would delve into the heavier subjects of spirituality, religion and politics, which is fine by me!
It turns out Margaret was originally born in India in the 1930s and she actually was an Indian princess. She told me she had met her husband in India in the late days of the Raj. Harry* held some sort of directorship with a large rubber company and after marrying they had travelled the world because of his job, living in Canada and Australia.
Harry had been a lot older than Margaret and one day, still fairly early on in their marriage, Harry died suddenly of a heart attack while they were visiting England. Margaret had been devastated as she told me they were very happy together. They had no children so with Harry gone Margaret was alone.
She felt so lost and deep in mourning she decided to return to Canada to try and rebuild a life there. It was a dark time for her as she continued to struggle with her grief, so once again, she returned to England where Harry’s family lived. Her brother-in-law stepped in to help her sort her affairs and got her settled in the little bungalow next door to me, where she then lived for the rest of her life.
Margaret’s Visitation
She told me that when she had settled in, with substantial help from her brother-in-law, and the final paperwork was complete, she awoke from sleep one night. She said she saw her husband Harry, standing perfectly still at the end of her bed. He just looked at her.
I asked her if she could tell he was a ‘ghost’ and she said he was solid. Just like a real person. Margaret said that he didn’t smile but looked at her with an aura of peacefulness about him. And then, just like that, he disappeared. She never saw him again.
Margaret told me she thought he had come to visit her, to reassure her all was well and that she should be happy in her new home as she was now in the right place. If this was the message he intended to convey, Margaret felt it worked.
She slowly settled into life in her new village, putting down roots and making lifelong friends. It was after this visit from Harry that Margaret said she was finally able to move on from her grief.
*Names have been changed to protect privacy.
Following Publication…
This story was published, with Margaret’s permission. Sadly, it was only a few weeks later that Margaret passed. It was a sad time for me and I thought about her a fair bit.
Whether it was my imagination or not, I did feel her presence around her house when I was outside on our driveway. I swear one evening I heard my name called twice, there was no one out there, it was late evening.
Image: white feather – credit Pranav, unsplash.com/@pranav7020
One day I was in the kitchen looking out of the window when a large white feather floated down. I don’t know what sort of bird it could have been from but I always like to think a random white feather floating down is a sign of angels, at least that’s what I always tell children! True or not, it’s a comforting thought for me. Or perhaps it is a message from the departed to say all is well.
I watched the feather float down, large and pure white. I turned to my partner and proclaimed I thought it might be Margaret, coming to tell me she was finally at peace.
He said to me, ‘Didn’t you see the feathers earlier?’
Apparently, when I was out mowing the lawn (like you do) my partner, who had been in the kitchen, witnessed two white feathers float down in front of the window. He said one had hovered, at chest height, for a good twenty seconds. In his opinion, longer than it should have floated for.
Perhaps, since I didn’t see the feathers earlier in the day, a third one was sent to me. Was it Margaret coming to let me know she was finally at peace?
What’s Your Story?
Have you ever had a visit, a sign or a white feather of your own? I’d love to hear about it. Get in touch
Until next time, keep an eye out for white feathers.
Stay spooky,
Emma 👻